Haven
by stranded karasu
Summary: [Pre-Dogma] Bartleby reflects on heaven, bliss, sanctuary, and humanity. short fic. please R


Title: Haven

Author: me *points up*

Pairing: Loki + Bartleby? …..naaahhhh….

Warnings: a tad bit of language

Archive: feel free

feedback: shingiami62@hotmail.com

Disclaimer: 8.8; I _wish_ they were mine…them….the actors that play them….etc. (unfortunately however, they're not. They belong to Kevin Smith and View Askew) 

Haven-- It's a funny concept. 

Regardless of how old we get, or how much crap we witness throughout the span of our lives, we all need some security to keep us sane. The idea that there's something unchanging, maybe not pure, but just unchanging, anchors even the worst of us. To tell the truth, whether it was decreed by God's foresight or not, I've managed to find at least some slight relief from all the shitty agony of being dammed to spend the rest of eternity in Wisconsin-- which is the closest humanity has come to reproducing Hell, might I add. I don't quite know exactly what _urges _me to return here time and time again, but lately I've had an unquenchable need to be in the uniquely blissful atmosphere of the Airport. 

Yes, you heard me right, the god damn airport. 

I've taken to lounging in one of the many stiff plastic chairs every day almost, merely observing the people oozing back and forth, and sinking into my thoughts. I welcome wholeheartedly the steady surge of nostalgia that begins to flow through my veins while I watch the estranged people walk around like two-dimensional puppets, and I can't help it, I get it every single time I do it. It's the fucking familiar feeling of "watching" without needing to judge or intervene, that's as addicting as any drug. I do it out of unnecessary compulsion now, it's all I've ever done, and all I'll ever do, probably. It's the reason why I was made. When I drift between the harried people, I forget the humid freezing air oozing from the vents, the cheap decorative (and unheeded) protocols littering the halls. Cheap souvenir stores, too, but that's another story. Anyways, it's like the placid tastelessness of life fades away, and all I see are the vivid emotions, the purity of forgetfulness, and I just how temporary these people really are. How quickly their exploits are cast aside, and new ones welcomed. I walk around the halls and gates regularly, and watch the planes take off --Kinda fucked up, considering I'll never get on a fucking plane, but that's not the point. It's escapism at it's fucking best. I come back time after time to drift along the purpose-ridden people dodging and nervously running for the gates and doors I know so well. I could probably tell you the number of screws in each door, if you fucking wanted me to. The exited or tired ones that seep out of the arrival gates like rivers, are my favorites. They're filled with such hopeful expectations, so many plans-- It's fucking addicting I tell you. They're never fucking closed, those gates never close on anyone. People just walk _mindlessly_, they walk back and forth along them. And they're never closed. 

Sometimes I see the same people, their arrival and their return, and the undeniable note of voyeurism makes _them _seem morose. That's when you know that watching these people is really just some self-defeating hobby. Once you see them again, it verifies just how real they are, their lives are simplistic, but they're still _there_. There are new experiences lining their minds, and old ones pushed aside--which is what really drives the point into you. Needless to say I can't stand second sightings, it really cheapens the symbolism. The ever-changing atmosphere too, but I guess that's life. Seems unfair that they should get back through the same doors, some of them carrying a horrible burden on their shoulders and others dragging the feelings of regret behind them. Forever changed, they leave this place, and their exploits behind. 

I sometimes wonder _why_ it is that I can't stay away for too long, _why_ I can't avoid watching these people with a detached expression splattered on my face, as I entertain myself by poking through their lives, and by having them automatically play in front of me like a surreal play. It's like the rest of humanity fades away, and the rest of my life does as well. I guess that might be why I like it then--because time seems to fucking stop at an airport. Every one is going somewhere, waiting for something, and it's that delusional idealism that must really draw me in like some sickass fly. What a pastime for what was once a divine angel-- 

A glance towards the brown bag at my side serves as a reminder of my task. Loki must be fired up by now. I offered to go to the stores to get some gum and a few batteries for some random, half-assed game he's making, but halfway back, I couldn't help turning towards the airport. It was a twenty minute bus ride from where I was at the moment, but I simply had to come today. I needed this. It's getting way too placid and dim for me in this world, and I can't stand the cheapness of this place. How fucking cold the people are. _These _people are worth it for a few minutes at least. They're not worthless meat puppets for the time that they're here, they have a warm surge of emotions, needs, and I-- I have a reminder. 

This is my haven-- I realize I might never return home, and that Wisconsin might be the fucking cage that will ultimately begin to enclose on me. But at least here, _here _things are different. _Here_, things are as they should be. Loki calls it hypocrisy, but it doesn't bother me one bit, it fucking gives me a reason to exist. Maybe one day I'll get to return home, and watch them from there. Maybe one day Loki and me will get the sort of welcome these worthless meat-puppets get here, even if it _is_ labored and fake. Maybe for a little while, all the goddamn sins that were thrown on us will fade away, and the light that completes us wont be emanating from a buzzing lamp glued to the ceiling_. I _fucking wouldn't care if it was hypocritical. We'd have the warmth and light of purpose surround us, and we wouldn't simply be fading and drifting into a taciturn monotony -- a destructive Nothingness that fucking serves only to remind you of what exactly you _don't _have every minute of every day. 

Until then I think I'll keep coming back, this place is as close to heaven as I'll ever fucking get, and there are no gates here to keep me away. I just hope Loki understands. As much as I love him, I still love this more. The encompassing warmth of meaning and forgiveness.

How could I ever let this go?

I need this, like people need to breathe, eat, sleep. It's natural for me, to bathe in the splendor of humanity if only for a second. I've seen the shit that humanity does to itself, I've seen slaughter, complete destruction, and all in the name of some temporal ideal that could matter three shits to a quart. The skies have turned red before my eyes, bathed in blood and gore, as some self-righteous ass decides to challenge God and slaughter his people. I've seen people slaughter themselves, their children, and all for some shitty land. I've seen the divine punishment of God. Earthquakes that shook hell, and entire cities lit aflame, their people running through charred streets, inflamed, screaming and moaning in agony. 

But _Here_, It's different. 

I slide back on the chair and take a deep breath. My hand makes for the bag, and I stare at the whiteness of the ceiling. Calmness. Another deep breath, and my thoughts melt away, and you know, if you look hard enough, you could almost see Heaven. 

(\ ~*~ /)

.

Fin? 

Not sure if I should go on…


End file.
